A tale of two brothers

It's a strange thing that death brings people together. And although it does make sense, reminding people about what is truly important in life, it's also sad to think it's possibly one of the only ways to mend broken bonds.

Imagine two brothers. Two brothers who were so close you couldn't find one without the other. Two brothers who, when younger, played with each other, shared secrets, and hugged. Then something changed. One became an orthodox rabbi and the other didn't.

In the beginning, neither of them thought it would break their bond, but when the unorthodox brother married a non-Jew, their once tightly knit relationship unraveled.

"“It's like drugs," the rabbi said. "If David had a drug problem, I wouldn't continue my relationship with him because what he was doing was wrong. I wouldn’t want to encourage him."

So for years the brothers went without speaking to one another, and in turn affected the entire family. Is this right?

First of all I should mention this is a true story, it's not a hypothetical case I put on the page to bring up a dialogue about how religious beliefs can negatively affects families.

I'm also not saying that religion always has a negative impact when it comes to family, because it often acts as an ingredient to bring families together. However, in the above scenario, it saddens me to think that because of a belief one could turn against his or her own sibling. Does religion truly turn everyone into an "other"?

Midwest Judaism in the 1920s

For the next blog entries I'm going to be sharing with you the oral history I did with my grandmother. Many people forget, or simply don't know, that Columbus, OH has their fair share of Jewish grandmothers. The following story will introduce you to Judaism in the Midwest and give you a sense of what it was like for a Jewish female growing up with Russian parents in the 1920s. My grandmother's story is juxtaposed with my story, to show the difference in generations and to show how Judaism has changed within my family over the years. The blog will alternate between my grandmother and my own story. 

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I was born on May 20th, 1919 in a hospital in Columbus, Ohio. I turned out to be the second eldest child, but the only daughter, of Bessie and Benjamin Greenberg. My parents were immigrants from Russia who came to the US separately in 1917. When Mama came over, she brought her three sisters, Rose, Molly, and Alta. Mama also had a brother who had decided to stay in Russia because he was in the army.  

During this time, a lot of Jews in Russia were enlisted in the army and it was safer for them to stay than for others. He didn't know what would happen to him if he left, and he was scared of what could happen to him in 'The New World.' Mama never saw her brother again. They sort of kept in touch, but Mama wasn't very good at writing. All she could do was send him money.

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